


A Son's Shame

by filamero



Series: The World of Emotions [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Dream SMP Lore, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream is in Prison, Dream is their son, Emotional Hurt, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Heavy Angst, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Puffy and Niki are moms, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), haha green loser, mentions of manipulation, no beta we die like wilbur, this is literally spedrun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28994955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filamero/pseuds/filamero
Summary: One of the worst feelings in the world is to disappoint the ones you hold dear.  Painful, excruciating, and agonizing as long as they feel too embarrassed to even claim you as one of their own.Shame is a burden that is borne to those who cause great destruction and realize it far too late.—In which Dream is alone with his thoughts in prison, and he can't help but think about the women he learned to call his mothers.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Clay | Dream, Cara | CaptainPuffy/Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream & Niki | Nihachu
Series: The World of Emotions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123397
Comments: 12
Kudos: 209





	A Son's Shame

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! again, this was written on a whim, so i apologize for any mistakes in spelling, grammar, and general english mistakes [:
> 
> enjoy!!

One of the worst feelings in the world is to disappoint the ones you hold dear. To watch their hope in you fade away until it’s gone, to be left behind in the dust as they continued on with their lives, to be cast aside when there were promises of forever. It hurts in indescribable ways, cuts deeper than the sharpest of blades, weighs heavier than the weight of the heavens that laid on Atlas’ shoulders. Painful, excruciating, and agonizing as long as they feel too embarrassed to even claim you as one of their own.

Shame is a burden that is borne to those who cause great destruction and realize it far too late.

Dream remembers what life was like alongside Puffy and Niki.

He doesn’t remember his birth parents. What their names were, what they looked like, what they did for a living, how they died—or if they even died at all, and left him behind because caring for an infant while poor proved to be far too difficult for them to manage. In his earliest memories, he was on his own, out on the streets of the marketplace and calling an old, thrown-out supply crate his home. There might’ve been people that taught him how to live as a ‘street-rat’—named lovingly so by the villagers who saw people like him as a bother instead of a cause for charity—but at the end of the day, the only person who truly cared about his own well-being was himself.

Until Puffy and Niki entered his life.

The night of the storm, when Puffy carried him home and Niki cared for him, was the first night he felt loved by someone else. He never realized just how hungry he was until Niki set a bowl of soup in front of him at the dining table, a bigger serving than what he ate for the past week combined. Or maybe even the whole month. His big, surprised green eyes met her kind, generous blue ones, taking the seat next to him and scooping up a spoonful for him. “It’s really hot,” she chuckled, making a show of blowing on it to cool it down before holding it up to his lips. “It’s good, I promise.”

Dream tentatively took a bite, heeding Niki’s warning and trying to avoid scalding his tongue. He would’ve been lying if he said that it wasn’t the most delicious thing he had ever tried up until that moment. His thoughts must’ve been obvious with the way Puffy and Niki laughed gently at him, Niki already scooping up and blowing on another spoonful for him to eat. The warmth blooming in his chest from the care slowly began to match the heat radiating off of the soup, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely safe. Comfortable, relaxed, at ease—even with the storm raging outside.

Puffy had let him sleep in her bed that night, wrapping her arm carefully around him as if she were shielding him from anything that could put him in harm’s way. The thunder boomed loudly that night, letting the world know that whatever otherworldly being ruled it was angry, its wrath coming down as the storm rampaged on. Yet he didn’t fear for himself once, simply cuddling up closer to the kind woman who he had been following around for God-knows-how-long, lulled to sleep by a gentle song that she seemed to know by heart.

Dream learned what it was like to be a son.

Puffy and Niki taught him everything that he needed to know—from English to math, history to science, and everything that they knew of in between. He grew to be sharp-witted and intelligent, his mind being his greatest weapon. Trades would come easy whenever he accompanied Puffy to the marketplace—negotiating the best deals, he found out, usually involved being charismatic and, though it felt a little like scamming, a spoonful of outsmarting the seller. Baking became a second habit, knowing his way around the kitchen well and helping Niki out whenever he could, especially on days where business boomed like during festivals or holiday nights.

But more importantly, they shaped him into what they knew. They encouraged being loving and compassionate, empathetic and sincere, reliable and trustworthy—someone who would make the world a better place rather than tarnish it any more than it already had been. “You have a very special name, you know?” Puffy said to him one day, as she settled on the soft plush of the loveseat while he sat on the floor in front of her, head tilted back to rest on her lap and look up at her. “Dream. It’s not really a common one,” she continued. “I think your parents were smart for giving you a name like that one.”

Dream tilted his head to the side, curiosity swimming in his bright, forest-colored eyes. “Why?”

Puffy snorted softly. “Look at you, already asking me questions. You’re growing up too fast, slow down,” she hummed, carefully threading her fingers through his soft, growing, dirty-blond locks with a smile. “Do you know what a dream is?”

“Those little movies that play in your head while you’re sleeping, right?” he responded, reaching up and tapping the side of his head for extra emphasis. “I never remember what mine are like.”

“Not that kind of dream! Silly duck,” Puffy grinned, a laugh falling from her lips and easing his nerves, just as they always did. “I meant the kind of dream that’s like...something you want to do. In the future.”

Dream paused for a moment, processing the information. “Like eating dinner? Is that a dream?”

“Maybe for some,” she responded, looking down at him. “But think bigger. It’s—oh! It’s like a goal. A hope. Something really, really big that you really, really want to see happen or do.”

He nodded his head slowly, though if the slight furrow in his brow said anything, it would say something about the connection it had to his name.

Puffy leaned down, looping her arms underneath his arms and hoisting him up onto her lap. She gave him a smile, one of those motherly smiles that made a certain warmth bloom in his chest and spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I think you’re our dream, me and Niki,” she stated softly, fixing some stray strands of hair on his face. “We’ve had plenty of dreams, you know. I wanted to sail the sea—” she gestured to herself, “—and I did that. Niki wanted to start a bakery and look at her business now. We wanted to have a happy life, and I don’t think we could ask for a better one than right now.”

Dream cracked a small smile. “Am I part of the ‘happy life’ dream?”

Puffy clicked her tongue. “You’re more.” She tugged him close into a hug, raising her free arm into the air as if painting a picture for him. “I don’t really know how to say it, but—me and Niki love you a lot. You...You’re something new every day, and I mean it.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “You’re getting sappy.”

She laughed loudly, playfully flicking his forehead. “It’s true! I think I’m getting close to my woman-thing of the month,” she joked, pinching his cheek. “But I woke up this morning, saw you helping Niki make breakfast, and—I don’t know—I realized that I want you to go far. Wait, no—I realized that I know you’ll go far. You’re gonna blow me away, you’re gonna blow Niki away, you’re gonna blow everyone you ever meet away. Your name is Dream because you’re gonna be big someday, I just know it!”

He fell silent for a few moments, glancing down at his hands. Could he really be what Puffy was saying? He knew that she and Niki would love him no matter where he ended up—but the way Puffy talked about him just then...He wanted to be that too. He wanted to be his own dream. “You really think so?” he asked, looking back up at her.

“Haven’t you been listening? I know so!” she grinned, pulling him impossibly close into a hug. “You’re gonna be great, Dream, I know you are. Just promise not to forget us, alright?”

He laughed softly, the noise muffled by the way his cheek was pressing up against her shoulder. “I won’t ever,” he reassured, wriggling out of her embrace to look her in the eye, a determined spark igniting in the sea of green. 

Puffy cooed, squishing Dream’s face up once more. “That’s my duckling,” she giggled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be your dream,” he thought aloud, a smile on his face as he pictured the future. “I’ll be someone you can be proud of, Mom.”

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Puffy chuckled, ruffling his hair. “I think I’ll always be proud of you.”

Dream grinned brightly, mind already made up. He was going to make her and Niki proud one day, he promised.

A tear rolls down Dream’s cheek, bringing him out of his thoughts. The obsidian wall is hard against his back, and the lava to his right emits just enough warmth to almost-mockingly caress his face. The laugh that bubbles up from his chest is bitter, rolling off of his tongue and leaving a sickeningly sour taste. Shaking hands come up to his face and wipe at his eyes, getting rid of the tears that threatened to fall. One was enough—though it felt like one was already too much. His eyes drift to the netherite rails keeping him in, reaching out and touching the warming metal.

It’s funny, how he’s surrounded by warm things, yet he still feels so cold. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that refuses to leave, forever burned there the way the crater of L’manburg will no doubt be. The slow drip of lava is the only sound that reaches his ears, far away from daily life to hear any chatter that could be happening outside at that moment.

There’s something else though, an eerie voice in the back of his head—though he’s learned how to tune it out in the few days that he spent in this wretched prison.

It would be easy to blame his actions on the dreamon. To say that it’s influence increased in the time between when he first ‘befriended’ it to now. To say that it overtook him to do all the things he did, to commit all the crimes that he’s committed, and that he had no control over his body while it rampaged on.

But that wouldn’t be true.

Everything he did, he did on his own. 

He knows that he wasn’t always like this. Back when he first claimed the land as his—and George’s and Sapnap’s—he had good intentions. When he opposed L’manburg during their first war of independence, because their whole country stemmed from a drug cartel. When he ‘advocated’ for Schlatt in the elections, because he didn’t really do anything wrong—all he did was join an election that was open to the residents of his server. When he smiled, and laughed, and played, and had friends. 

Then it changed. He had ignored the dreamon’s influence at first—rarely letting it slip. But somewhere along the lines, he became in tune with it, using it to amplify his own skills: his combat, his intelligence, his charisma. It became a part of his daily life, working in tandem with it to maintain the order. He accepted it.

He wishes he didn’t. 

Somewhere along the lines, in between his acceptance of the otherworldly being that he allowed to reside in his mind and body, the word ‘order’ blurred into ‘power.’ No longer did he wish to keep things in check for everyone to be happy; he wanted to be at the top and stay at the top. His days were spent building up this pillar, this pedestal that he set himself upon, raising him high above everyone else. If anyone dared get close, he loaded his crossbow and shot them down, no matter who they were.

The word ‘friends’ turned into ‘attachments’ and then ‘nuisances.’ How could he be the only one on top when there were others tethered to his ankles, stunting his growth? And when he did manage to climb higher, the bonds tying them together only brought them up with him—the distance remained the same, and he would be back at square one. The dreamon didn’t even influence the decision to spray every one of his bonds with gasoline, tossing a match to each and every one, watching them burn away into nothing but ashes. There were storm clouds beneath where he stood, no doubt raining down a mighty wrath—but it never crossed his mind to dip below, hold his hand out to everyone, and pull them up to his level where they would be safe from the storm.

Bile rises up in his throat. He had come full circle.

He thinks of when he was younger, alone on the streets, surviving on stolen goods alone. 

He thinks of when he first met Puffy, showing him compassion after having just met him.

He thinks of when he first went home to Niki, already treating him as one of her own within seconds.

He thinks of how they taught him almost everything he knows, shaping him into the witty yet compassionate leader he is—or, well, was.

When did that foundation come crumbling down?

The hole in his chest seems to expand at the thought of his mothers—could he even call them his mothers anymore? He supposes they were caught in the wreckage when he destroyed all his relationships, isolating himself because he wanted to be number one. 

Did they miss him?

Did he miss them?

He pauses for a moment, tilting his head back and leaning it against the obsidian walls the way he had done with Puffy’s lap all those years ago.

Yeah.

He missed them.

He doesn’t think they miss him, though.

Because if he were his own parent, in their shoes, he wouldn’t want to claim himself as his own.

He’s been anything but a good person. It was easy to deny this, to say that ‘the ends justify the means’, to act like he would go back and fix all of his mistakes in due time, back when he wasn’t locked up. When he still had people by his side (that stood by his side willingly). But now, deep within Pandora’s Box, when he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, it was hard to deny what he’s done. He knows that his actions were unacceptable, irredeemable, inappropriate in every way imaginable. Framing others for his misdeeds, manipulating nearly everyone (especially those who weren’t in the right state of mind), pulling and tangling the strings until they were so knotted that there was hardly anything that he didn’t instigate.

Who in their right mind would claim him as their son?

Tears well up a little in Dream’s eyes once again, and he laughs. It’s even more bitter than the one from before, acidic and disgusting all the same. It wracks through his body, shaking the tears out of his eyes.

Why was it only now that he was regretting his actions?

Puffy and Niki come to mind once more, and Dream smiles to himself tightly.

Once, a long time ago, he was told that his name was special. That it shone with his potential. That one day, when he was older, he was going to take the world by storm and blow everyone away.

He supposes he’s done that. Just not in the way the person who told him that expected.

“I’ll be your dream,” he murmured to himself, tears trickling down his face in a steady stream that mimicked the lava blocking his only exit off. The memory replays in his head, carving the crater in his heart out to be even deeper, emptier. His throat seizes up, and it suddenly becomes harder to talk. “I’ll be someone you can be proud of, Mom.”

He knows he’s not someone that Puffy nor Niki can be proud of. Maybe he was before, but he’s far from it now.

He’s a disappointment.

He isn’t sure that he could ever look his mothers in the eye ever again. His eyes would probably be glued to the floor when they visited him—or if they wanted to visit him at all. He longs to hug them, to sink into their embrace, to cry out apology after apology, to rebuild their little cottage of memories in their hearts that he had so carelessly abandoned, left to be destroyed in the storm of consequences that he didn’t even bother to consider. It’s pathetic, he knows, how quickly he was crumbling underneath the weight of his actions now that he had to face them. How he had been so blind to the hole that he had dug for himself, all because he was too caught up in soaring higher and higher into the sky—to be number one, to be at the top, to be someone that the world would acknowledge, for his own satisfaction. How he had stomped out all the hope that the others had in him, falling further and further into the darkness that he had so willingly stepped into. How he had broken promises just as easily as he destroyed relationships.

He’s facing his actions head-on, and it burns so brightly that it’s scalding his skin, and all he can do is stand there and let it scorch, in the hope that it’ll scar over later on. No one is there to hold him close, to press cool cloths against his burns, to sing him a familiar song as he drifts off to sleep. It hurts, it hurts so bad to have nothing to do but think about just how disappointing of a person—of a son, that he was.

His shoulders sag against the wall, everything—his thoughts, his memories, his behavior and its consequences—weighing down heavily on his being. He wants nothing more than to sink into the ground and ease himself from the pain, but he knows that he can’t.

For shame is a burden that is borne to those who cause great destruction and realize it far too late.

**Author's Note:**

> to anyone who cares:  
> i'm @hcneyblade on twitter C: come say hi mayhaps?


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